************HH*KC*JS*TJ************

October 1871

They all knew something was up. Word gets around a company real fast when everyone lives with everyone else in an enclosure. It was the same way at Valparaiso. There was a fast riding civilian let in the fort minutes ago. A flurry of officers into the CO's office and a flurry back out. The bugle call was sounded. This is it! Jeddie's first Indian campaign was about to commence!

There'd be no singing "The Girl I Left Behind Me" on the ride today as when the company makes the rounds of their territory. They'd ride hard and determined, ready to use rifle and pistol and saber to defend the poor souls in need of the US Cavalry's best. Jeddie had nothing but the highest admiration for his company's officers and enlisted.

C Company, 7th Cavalry lined up in perfect symmetry, each soldier almost a mirror image of the next, with their sharp uniforms and wide brimmed, down-turned cavalry hats, much more suited to desert weather than his cowboy hat. Next to him was Private Proulx. They bonded naturally, Proulx having that innate French spirit of camaraderie that drew Jeddie.

Jeddie loved his cavalry mount, Brazen, a dark bay Morgan gelding with incredible distance at the gallop, big chested to fill his lungs to capacity, just over fifteen hands, and with an intelligence that almost scared Jeddie. Or maybe they were just so in tune with each other the horse seemed to know what he would think next. Army horses were the best trained in the world!

Captain Roberton dispensed the orders for their mission on his mount facing the men. A wagon train had been attacked by renegade Arapaho on the Santa Fe Trail thirty-four miles from the fort. Word of many deaths was attested to by the civilian, Mr. Utzinger, who escaped with two arrows embedded in his hide and was being seen to by Doctor Matheson. The 7th Cavalry was to ride in haste to the location of the attack and assist as needed.

The bugle sounded again and C Company, 7th US Cavalry rode out of Fort Lyon as one. Oh, how Jeddie wished Hannie could see him now! Wouldn't he be proud!

No sense in imagining what the civilians were going through in the time since the attack until now, he just hoped they could defend themselves adequately until the cavalry arrived. That would mean little use for the medical/mess wagon that would catch up with them later. The company would deal with whatever they rode into, that's what they had been training for all these months. Jeddie was so proud to be one of the the brave cavalry men who defended the innocent.

************HH*KC*JS*TJ************

It isn't easy being an orphan. It's even harder being orphaned by violent, bloody attack. The scene that met C Company, 7th Cavalry was both violent and bloody. Seven wagons, arranged in a circle, now on their sides or upturned, all of them burning, acrid black smoke filling the sky, arrows in wagons, arrows in the ground, arrows in horses and oxen, arrows in bodies of all sizes and sexes. The horrific, bloody effect of sharp knives was seen on all the slain. A few lived to see the faces of the cavalry men before they died, some dying in the soldier's arms. Animals were put out of their misery. The 7th Cavalry's duty now was to collect whatever they could to identify the victims and bury them.

Jeddie didn't shirk his duty, he dug and buried with the rest of the men. He might have been the only one there who had done the same for his parents.

The camp fires were a cold comfort to Jeddie. He wasn't the only one who had lost his hold on his stomach seeing the death and devastation. Sergeant Quinn said a man never gets used to this, he just learns to do his duty first. He opened a bottle of Irish whiskey to pass around the circle of soldiers. "Put the fire back in yir bellies, men, take one and pass it to yir neighbor, yir Cavalry Men, now." Jeddie took his share and the burn gave him something else to think on, while it lasted. A second round came but he passed on it. He just wanted Hannie.

The exact location of the renegades couldn't be determined in the time left to the scouts that day so guards were on extra alert, two hours apiece to keep eyes and ears fresh. Jeddie lay on his bedroll, his blanket pulled up to his jaw, his hand reaching out for the security of Hannie's, but it wasn't there. He closed his eyes and hoped to sleep some before his time at guard, he didn't want to let down the company on his watch.

The scream that pierced the night had the entire company awake as one, soldiers jumping up and rifles in hand in mere seconds. Jeddie alone remained asleep, sitting up. His fellow soldiers looked at him, terror written all over his youthful face, accentuated by the dancing camp fire, his mouth open in silent screams then voicing whatever terror he saw with his mind's eye, as the piercing screams of a little boy carried on the night air. No words, no names, just abject terror and screams.

"Private Curry, wake up! Wake up, laddie!" Sergeant Quinn shook Jeddie harder and harder until the screams stopped and his eyes rejoined the living. Jeddie was shaking throughout his entire body, his teeth chattering, sweat dripping, clothes soaked, he wanted to whimper but remembered he was a trooper now, even with Sergeant Quinn's strong hands still gripping his upper arms.

"Ye've given us all a scare, now, Private Curry."

"S-s-sorry, Sergeant Quinn." Jeddie raised his head and saw Captain Roberton looking down at him, concern on his face.

"You'd best get up and walk around, Private Curry. Have some coffee, your guard duty starts soon. We're depending on you."

"You can depend on me, Captain!" Jeddie jumped up, a bit uneasy on his feet but he soon steadied himself. "I won't let you down no matter what, sir!" Jeddie said saluting his captain.

"That I am sure of, Private. Sergeant Quinn, take Private Curry to the mess wagon and see he gets the coffee and whatever else he needs." He knew the sergeant understood the meaning behind his order. The big Irishman had a soft spot for Private Curry, he'd find out what the young man had experienced and if it would affect his...

"Yes, Captain, sir." Sergeant Quinn led Jeddie with his big paw on his shoulder.

************HH*KC*JS*TJ************

Hours passed before Sergeant Quinn settled on the stool next to Captain Roberton outside the mess wagon. The night sky showed a different hue now, soon the sun would begin to color the horizon. He took the cup handed him by the captain. "Ah, coffee's nice and hard, fit for a cavalry man's boots." He raised his cup to the captain in thanks.

Captain Roberton smiled. "How's our Private doing?"

"Fine, fine, Captain, sir! He's coming off duty now, did his part like the man he is!" Sergeant Quinn had talked with Private Curry until he was due to report, assessing the body language, the speech, the willingness to open up, to confide in his sergeant for the good of the company. He was satisfied with his findings, confident in Private Curry's ability to do his duty.

"And?" Captain Roberton waited for his explanation.

"Well, Captain, Sir, it seems our Private Curry's been t'rough somet'ing like what we saw today, only it were his own family." He refilled his cup, the pause dramatic. "Back in Kansas."

Captain Roberton looked on with understanding. "The Border Wars."

Sergeant Quinn nodded while tipping his cup back and forth. "Aye. Bot' him an' his cousin. They're the only ones left of them two families." He shook his head at the thought of what the two had seen. "Buachaillí beaga, they must have been."

Sergeant Quinn hadn't needed to delve into details talking with Private Curry, doing so wouldn't explain any more and he wanted Private Curry's mind on his duty and duty alone. He's proven himself well.

"It's a shame, really. He makes a very good cavalry man otherwise." Captain Roberton refilled his cup.

Sergeant Quinn nodded. "Aye. He makes a very good army man. Maybe there's a place for him yet."

"East."

"Aye. Where all the battles are political."

"I'll talk to Lieutenant McAlister when we return to the fort. He might know of an opening coming up."

Sergeant Quinn sighed and dropped his shoulders. He'd miss Private Curry.

************HH*KC*JS*TJ************

They'd found the renegades still celebrating with the whiskey off one of the wagons, down a canyon about 24 miles southwest. The scouts reported thirty-one braves in the canyon and thirty-one Indian ponies in a cove near it. The cavalry mounted up and galloped for twenty miles, slowing their horses to a walk for three, then dismounting and walking the last mile so as not to raise dust or be heard. Wasn't much chance as there was enough whiskey for three bottles apiece with spares and the renegades had spent an entertaining night of braggadocio, the whiskey taking over their better sense and leaving them at a distinct disadvantage.

"See what I mean?" Schmidt pointed out the canyon configuration to Sergeant Quinn, Jeddie, Proulx, and Captain Roberton, all lying on their bellies overlooking the small canyon. Jeddie and Proulx were considered the best and most accurate riflemen in the company.

Sergeant Quinn pulled the survey map from the canister and unrolled it. "Aye, only one way in and one way out. And we're on t' outside." He replaced the map. "They've boxed themselves in, they have, t'anks to the Irish."

"Private Curry, how long a shot do you make it from here on the canyon ridge to the farthest man down there?" Captain Roberton asked.

Jeddie assessed the layout. "Six hundred twenty-two yards, sir."

"Six hundred twenty-two yards." The captain looked at Sergeant Quinn and asked the question both wanted answered. "You sure it isn't six hundred twenty-three yards?"

Jeddie reassessed as asked. "No, sir. Six hundred twenty-two yards."

"Could it be the shadow's playin' wit' yir eyes, Private Curry? Could it not be six hundred twenty-one yards?"

Jeddie pushed his down-turned cavalry hat a bit up his forehead, squinted and reassessed as his sergeant asked. "No, Sergeant. Six hundred twenty-two yards."

"Right. Well, now we need to get them to surrender. Suggestions?" Captain Roberton looked to the group.

"Well, sir, we need them to come out one by one." Schmidt surmised.

"An' to do dat, we need to show dem we are in control." Proulx added.

"And how do we get t'irty one drunken renegades to see reason?" Sergeant Quinn asked the three.

'Maybe they don't need to see reason. Maybe they just need incentive." Jeddie offered.

"Meaning what, Private Curry?" This was a distinction Captain Roberton wanted to hear explained!

"Well, sir. If we got their attention..." Jeddie looked around for the best spot. "...someone positions there and hollers to them to surrender cuz they're trapped, and me and Frenchie... Private Proulx are there... and here... we could demonstrate the accuracy of our firearms by picking off certain things, like that bottle the one on the far end is waving about." Jeddie could see the idea was being considered. He continued.

"We'd have to get the attention of the ones closest to the exit first. Same way. Schmidty... Private Schmidt should be over the start of the bottle neck, and two or three more to keep 'em inside if they charge the exit. And then start the demonstration. Only one voice should be heard, that way we keep our numbers hidden. We'll let them know who's to leave by what we hit. We should start at the rear, that way they'll know we're in control." Jeddie paused to summarize his plan to answer the captain's question. "Seeing their ranks thinning from behind as they go past one by one will give each one they pass on the way out incentive to do as we say."

Jeddie looked over the layout again. "Have to be sure to maintain control on the front, that's the key. Frenchie... Private Proulx, that should be your primary duty." He looked from his sergeant to his captain. "He'll need backup, sir."

Captain Roberton raised his right eyebrow and looked at Sergeant Quinn. "Well, we've got our orders, Sergeant. Let's inform the rest."

It was the dimmest of sounds. It was so fast no one saw it happen. One moment the captain, sergeant and privates were on their bellies while Private Curry explained his plan, and the next, Private Curry was sitting with pistol in hand.

"I'd appreciate if you didn't shoot my First Sergeant, Trooper." The two men, Captain Bryson and First Sergeant Sims froze when faced with the army pistol that seemed to appear out of thin air before their eyes.

"Captain Bryson, you and your men want to help in the round up?" Captain Roberton asked.

Captain Bryson, on patrol with the 10th US Cavalry, had spied the rising smoke of the wagon train and followed the tracks of the 7th to the canyon. "Yes, sir, Captain. Got a plan?"

"Private Curry, it's your plan. You fill them in. I'll inform the rest outside and return to give Private Proulx his backup," Captain Roberton ordered. "As planned," with a sideways smile at Sergeant Quinn.

"Yes, sir!"

The men took their positions on the canyon ridge, Sims laying beside Jeddie. "Think you're gonna hit that bottle with your Springfield Carbine from six hundred and twenty yards, Private?"

"Six hundred twenty-two yards, First Sergeant Sims."

On the signal from Captain Roberton, Captain Bryson stood and shouted down at the renegades. "Yo!"

The renegades did as Jeddie had anticipated trying to charge the entrance but were held back by Frenchie with his backup captain and sergeant, and Schimdty with his men at the bottleneck. One brave got the idea to turn for the only rifle at the back of the canyon but stopped well short when it careened away, blasted worthless by the long range shot of Private Curry's Springfield Carbine.

"Hoo-OO! That's got to be over a thousand yards, Private!"

"One thousand and three yards, First Sergeant Sims."

Trapped, the renegades waited for the next opportunity. It never came. Captain Bryson signaled the furthest renegade with the whiskey bottle. "First."

Sims watched as Jeddie obliterated the whiskey bottle in the hands of a renegade 'six hundred twenty- two' yards off. "That's some shooting, Private! Never seen the like!" Jeddie would impress him thirty more times. Captain Bryson pointed to a man. "Next." Jeddie hit another bottle, a feather, the ground inches away from feet, whatever was needed to let the man know he was next to walk out to the waiting 7th and 10th Cavalries, unharmed.

"You've a good man there, Captain! Plan went off perfectly!" said Captain Bryson before the units headed back to the fort with their prisoners.

"Mighty tall shootin', that's what done it." added First Sergeant Sims, shaking his head. "Never seen the like!"

************HH*KC*JS*TJ************

Buachaillí beaga, Irish, "little boys".

************HH*KC*JS*TJ************